Walter was seated just opposite his brother, full of life and fun, as he threw off his gay remarks now on this side and now on that. Suddenly he looked across at Amos, and something in the situation of his brother between the old lady and her daughter struck him as so irresistibly funny, that it was with the utmost difficulty that he restrained himself from a violent outburst of laughter. And, certainly, to one easily moved to merriment there was something singularly quaint and almost comic in the contrast between the subdued but courteous manner of Amos, who was patiently endeavouring to make himself agreeable to his two immediate neighbours, and the excited frivolity of Miss Morse’s running fire of worldly commonplaces, occasionally interrupted by her mother’s more staid utterances of a similar character.
Walter thoroughly comprehended the situation, and the reason why such pains were being taken to draw out his brother; and his satisfaction and amusement were unbounded at the manifest failure of the effort. The old lady caught Walter’s eye, and divining somewhat of the cause of its merry twinkle, coloured, and was silent. Her daughter also looked uneasily across the table, and then exclaimed,—
“Were you at Lady Gambit’s garden-party last Tuesday, Mr Walter?”
“No,” he replied; “I was not there.”
“Then I can tell you that you missed a treat,” said the other.
“Why, what was the special attraction?” he asked.
“Oh, everything that you can imagine!”
“Well, I can imagine so many things,” said Walter laughing, “that I am quite sure her ladyship’s garden could never have held them all. Pray, tell me what you yourself thought the attraction par excellence.”
“Yes, I can do that. You know these garden-parties are generally rather dull affairs after all.”
“What! with those numberless attractions?”